


From My Heart to Yours

by DiurnalDays



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Any more tags would spoil the story, Boys Being Boys, Dream World, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Island of the Blue Dolphins, M/M, Surrealism, tropical island
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-19 01:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12400251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiurnalDays/pseuds/DiurnalDays
Summary: Isolated in the middle of an endless azure blue sea, Alfred and Arthur indulge in the bounties of youth, reveling in their friendship and budding love under the dappled light of the sun. The horizon stretches beyond sight, cutting off their perfect world from all that lies beyond it. Between them, their Eden stretches infinitely, melting into a warm haze of boyish love and the twilight's secrets.





	1. Of Boys and Idealism

In the middle of an endless azure blue sea laid an island lined with lush tropical forests, welcoming beaches, and enchanting secrets around every corner. The sun always shone in the clear blue sky, sometimes skirting behind a fluffy white cloud before emerging again to dapple the island’s every surface. Its two inhabitants lived well off of the island's animals, fruits, roots, and other foods, which were always in abundance. 

Despite this island's diminutive size and unending isolation as a dot in an endless sea, however, it enjoyed a rich variety of secrets unknown to the rest of the world.

On a particularly bright day on this idyllic island, the lively, lush, muddy floor of the central forest was being trampled twice over by the island's sole residents. The usual untouched serenity of the island was abruptly disrupted with the soft scurrying and cries of scattering creatures spooked by the boy's rowdy game of forest tag. 

"Ha! Beat ya again, Artie!" a young and strong blonde-haired blue eyed boy shouted, leaping over a mossy log to evade the other boy's curses and feeble attempts to tag him back. "That's the second time I've beat you today!"

"You won the first time by cheating, Alfred!" the scrappy blonde boy named Arthur shouted back. "And my name is Arthur, not Artie!" He clambered clumsily over the log after Alfred, who had already run far ahead into the damp forest, and attempted to catch up to Alfred's superior physical strength with his longer, leaner legs. 

Perhaps out of luck, perhaps because Alfred liked to let Arthur win to make his best friend happy, Arthur caught up and tagged Alfred, out of breath and sweaty. An ear-splitting grin spread across Alfred's face and he swept Arthur up into a hug, squeezing Arthur with a ferocity only known by Alfred F. Jones.

"Haha, you won, Artie!" Alfred said. "You're the best!"

"Let... me... go, you lug," Arthur choked out, pushing against Alfred's chest feebly. Alfred let him go but continued to hold on to the hand that Arthur had tagged him with, making Arthur feel warm inside for some inexplicable reason.

Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand affectionately, only to look down at his dirtied tan cargo pants and rumpled blue sweatshirt with dismay. "Aw man, I got some mud and junk on my clothes. Don't want to make it harder for you to do the laundry later, Artie." Alfred reluctantly let go of Arthur's hand, making Arthur feel a sort of pang in his chest he still couldn't understand yet. He was grateful that Alfred was aware of other people’s needs - which Alfred frankly was not most of the time - but he would have been perfectly contented to stand there and hold Alfred’s hand for hours more.

While Alfred stepped back a few paces and brushed some mud and leaves off of his well-worn cargo pants, Arthur leaned back and caught his breath against a thick, mossy tree, instinctively slowly matching his light panting to Alfred's regular breathing, which had been unaffected by their run through the forest.

"I think you deliberately lost that game, Alfred," Arthur accused, slightly pouting. "You barely even sweated a little."

Alfred looked up with a disingenuous face. "What are you talking about, Artie? Of course you won fair and square! I may be able to knock coconuts off of trees for cocochil bread and stuff, but you're the best at shimmying up trees and chasing down beneboars!"

Arthur still wasn't convinced that Alfred hadn't deliberately thrown the match, but he let it slide. When faced with a face like Alfred's, there wasn't much else he could do. Besides, he could win a match of forest tag against Alfred somehow, someday, fair and square.

As Arthur cooled down from his run he fondly watched Alfred distractedly wander off into the colorful foliage, soon following behind like a fellow lost soul. They dazedly wove their way through and over the thick leaves and rocks and vines for a while, the only sounds being those of their loud footsteps along the trail they were blazing. There seemed to be no destination in particular for them and their dreamlike boyish wanderlust, at least not until the soft sounds and scents indicative of flowing water permeated the sun-streaked air. Then, suddenly, a new light burst out of Alfred’s smile, and he firmly grabbed Arthur’s hand and yanked him towards a thick smattering of tall leafy fern trees with the excitement of a spirit gone wild. 

“Hey, Artie, you winning is cool and all, but check this out!" Alfred brushed aside a purple fern laden with fat seeds to reveal a well-worn muddy path that led to a rocky ledge which overlooked the most beautiful waterfall Arthur had seen on the island yet. It was a small, steady stream about as wide as his shoulders that tumbled over the edge a few person-lengths above them and into the pool below about three Alfred-lengths or so - 15 and a half feet, Arthur supposed. A thin mist of water vapor thrown up by the cascading crystal-clear water caught the sunlight like a thin gauze of pearls, glowing as the clouds above parted to reveal the sun’s roving rays. The vividly green leaves cast dappled shadows over the water, shaking and rustling constantly as the breeze snaked through. Fire-red, sun yellow and fruit-pink flowers burst through the cracks of the rocks encircling the pond, providing a canopy of star-shaped bursts of color above. Arthur squeezed Alfred's hand in excitement and proceeded to drag him along in an enchanted daze.

"Woah..." 

At the edge of the hanging ledge the shaded cove looked like the perfect bathing spot. The misty waterfall cascaded down a rocky precipice and fed into a bubbling spring pool, the leaves of rainforest plants dragging lazy trails along the water's surface. Up above the sky was a verdant blue, perfectly outlined by the thin tree cover which filtered gentle sunlight down into the cove. Perfectly toned pebbles shimmered beneath the shallow surface of the clean, crisp water. The sounds of burbling water were music to Arthur's ears. The ledge he and Alfred were on gently sloped down along its sides to the edge of the pool where a small shoreline of gravel hugged the edge of the water. 

Apparently Alfred had had this line of thought at the same time Arthur did, because he began stripping off his muddy t-shirt and shorts in boyish excitement to leave them on the ledge. 

"Betcha can't do a cannonball as best as I can!" Alfred shouted, grinning at Arthur.

"Oh, is that a threat?" Arthur smirked back. "Because you'll see the true might of the cannonball from me, Arthur Kirkland!"

Laughing, Alfred bounded to the edge and leapt, curling up and making a large splash in the water below which sprayed ceremoniously onto Arthur's short hair. He frowned, because Alfred's cannonball already seemed better than his and he didn't want Alfred to beat him at the art of the cannonball. So Arthur jumped back, got a running start, jumped over the edge which was as tall as Alfred's height over the water-

And accidentally belly-flopped, sending water everywhere and pain shooting up his stomach through his body.

Arthur resurfaced, groaning in pain and spitting water. Alfred quickly scooped Arthur up in his arms and swam to the much shallower end of the pool where they could stand above the water, both of them thoroughly soaked.

He chuckled. "That was amazing, Artie! A belly-flop ain't a cannonball, but man was that splash great!"

Alfred quickly quieted when he saw that Arthur wasn't also smiling and was, in fact, grimacing in mild pain. 

"Artie?" Arthur met Alfred's eyes and patted Alfred's cheek. Alfred's face immediately melted into warm concern. He let go of Arthur to somewhat awkwardly place his arms around his friend. 

"Arthur, you okay? You look kind of hurt. Do you need some salve, or anything? Please tell me if you need something." 

Arthur sighed lightly. Sometimes he found Alfred to be too sweet, too gentle for him. He could probably take more of a beating than anything the world could give him. 

"Don't worry about it, Alfred. I'm tougher than that, alright? What did you describe me as this one time when a big branch fell on my head?" 

"Little but strong and cute," Alfred finished. "I know, Artie. I just..."

Arthur placed his hand on Alfred’s upper arm placatingly, and Alfred scrunched his face up and closed his eyes for a moment and paused. When he opened them, he had a smile on his face - a relief to Arthur. Arthur really felt fine - after all, pain never seemed to last any longer than a few minutes at most for him. 

"Hey, you know what, this water is just calling for me! I haven't bathed in days!"

Arthur snorted and slapped Alfred's chest playfully. "Oh, you must be so filthy. Absolutely overflowing with dirt and and sweat." 

Immediately, Alfred self-consciously looked down at his well-muscled naked body. "Wait, actually, am I? Dude, I've been so worried that my guy fumes or something are getting a bit overwhelming -" Alfred stopped when he saw the sarcastic smirk across Arthur's face.

"Oh come on, Artieeeee! You know I can't read sarcasm!"

"That's why you're so fun to tease, poppet," Arthur said. "Now go on and cleanse yourself of your... guy fumes, as you referred to them as." 

"Hey, I read about that term in one of your books!"

After he stuck his tongue out at Arthur, Alfred waded over to the deeper end closer to the waterfall's misty cascade, leaving Arthur in the end of the pool that went up to his chest. 

As he watched Alfred splash water onto himself and tear off a bit of bright orange cliff moss from the rocks to wipe himself down with, Arthur, as he always did when he had a rare quiet moment around Alfred, momentarily reflected on the way that he felt whenever Alfred touched him, whether to jostle him around or to gently show his... affection? Arthur didn't even know what to call it, he just knew that they had a special relationship of some sort that they both appreciated. But recently, he had become more aware of Alfred than ever before, feeling warm and gooey inside whenever Alfred did something as minor as steadying him on his hips when they were creeping along the rocky north shore of the island for bird eggs and Arthur began to wobble sideways or when Alfred complimented the few foods he could prepare well - namely, pastries and fruits. Despite the various rapid changes his body was going through that Arthur, frankly, was afraid of, the fuzzy feelings he associated with Alfred felt quite natural to him. He was pretty sure friends were close like that, anyway, especially since he and Alfred were literally everything to each other.

Arthur was violently broken out of his reverie by a rude slap of water to his face. He immediately sent back a jet of water droplets which beaned Alfred in the face only a few paces away. Alfred whooped in excitement and ran through the water, water resistance barely deterring him, to send slaps of water Arthur's way while Arthur enthusiastically returned them. As soon as Alfred was within reach, Arthur lunged and pinned Alfred down in the water with a technique to keep a grip on wobbling coconut tree trunks. "Geeetchaaa!!" Arthur warbled through the water triumphantly. No sooner had Arthur said that did Alfred quickly bonk his head against Arthur's, overpowering Arthur's more slender frame with his superior muscle and gently holding Arthur's wrists as they both resurfaced. 

Alfred nudged at Arthur's wrist, seeking to play more like an insatiable puppy, but Arthur turned his head away in disinterest. Already, his stomach was growling, and the high sun meant that his pale skin would burn more easily, especially in unshaded water. 

"I'm sorry, Alfred, I just don't feel like swimming anymore. Let's go back home, okay? First one back gets dibs on the last cocochil bread!"

And with that, Arthur was off, bolting out of the chest-high water into shallower water near the shore and and then up the slope of the side of the ledge to retrieve his clothes, still naked. Alfred followed soon after, matching his pace so that they could link arms, race quickly forgotten. Arthur had no idea why he put up with Alfred half the time, really, but as he bantered back and forth with Alfred about the best games they'd played in the ocean so far he thought there was nobody he'd rather be with. Everything felt right.

\--

Alfred and Arthur, being the sole inhabitants of their little island, shared a home together on the eastern end of their island between the forested slopes of the island's gentle mountain and the warm umber curves of the sandy beaches. The house was a rather simple beach house, with a weathered pale yellow paint job, a gingerbread porch, and two stories of well-lit rooms, but the isolated house also had working water and electricity systems that provided comfort for Alfred and Arthur. Neither really questioned why their old-style home had a small library fully stocked with "American" and "British" books, large airy skylights everywhere, and very modern facilities, but they thought of their home as having been always there the way it is without ever questioning its comfort. 

The house sat on a small, grassy hill near the beach, almost as if it were helping the thin beach grasses keep the bright umber sand rooted down and not swept everywhere by the salty ocean breeze. Right behind the home were a few other hills held down by scraggly beach grasses which led into the lush, rustling forest, and right in front of the home was an expansive view of the shore as the ocean brought its tides and creatures in and out. On the beach-facing gingerbread porch of Alfred and Arthur's little shared house the two boys laid side by side on a red, white, and blue sandy blanket, holding up seashells and other little trinkets they stored in a marmalade jar and talking about them together. The cocochil bread that Arthur had baked the day before was long gone, but they still laid under the shade of the ornately carved wooden porch covering together to talk absently about their prized items.

"Hey, remember that old bomber jacket I found slung over a kukui tree a year ago? I still have it. It's really awesome, you know. Couldn't stand to leave it there for some bird to use as nest lining. Maybe at night when the air cools down, we can use it as a blanket instead of a sandy beach towel and warm up or something." 

Arthur pinched Alfred's cheek affectionately.  
"Ow!" Alfred hissed. "What was that for?"

"You're an idiot," Arthur said. "You really shouldn't use your bomber jacket as a comforter! It would look much better on your back than on your drool-covered chest. I'll sew a quilt for us if you're really that in need of warmth at night." 

"Come on! I only drooled on your chest once!" Alfred protested.

"That's one time too many, poppet." 

"And you sound like a nagging mommy bird!"

"Alfred..." 

"I mean, I'd like a blanket and I guess I shouldn't use my nice bomber jacket as one, but the way you told me so-"

"Alfred..." 

"That drool incident was only once-" 

Arthur pressed his finger to Alfred's lips.

"You really don't know how to shut up sometimes," he said with a touch of fondness.

Alfred rolled his eyes but also took note, remaining blissfully quiet for a moment.

After a moment of silence punctuated only by the gentle crash of waves against sand and rocks many paces away, Arthur took an object from the marmalade jar and held up a shard of blue-green glass against the sun.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

"Yeah?" 

"It reminds me of what our eye colors would look like if they were mixed together. When I found this glass shard on the beach, I thought of you and how old we are." 

Alfred was oddly silent. "We're both teenagers now, Alfred. You’re 13 and I’m 15. I think we should start thinking of our future. Exploring the island more, learning about the animals and plants here, and one day even thinking about what could happen if we have kids." 

Arthur looked over at Alfred. "That's what we would do as friends, right? Have kids?"

Alfred adjusted himself to rest his head on his arms as a pillow. "Yeah... I read about it in an old book in the library thing. People have kids when they love and know each other very well. I've only known you my whole life, so it only makes sense we'd have kids." 

The thought scared Arthur somewhat. His entire world was Alfred, and he knew the same was true vice versa. Expanding that world to include another human being seemed so far away yet so close. He wasn't sure if he was ready to become an "adult", despite how old he was.

"Let's not think about that too much. How does going to the seaside cove and hunting crabs sound to you, Alfred?" 

Alfred got up, boosting himself up with his eyebrows. "Sounds swell." 

They left their seashells, blue-green glass shards and the discussion behind as they bounded away to torture local crustaceans. The discussion would not come up again for quite some time until three years later, when they had both grown quite a bit and had explored the entire island like the backs of their own hands.


	2. Amber Lights

It was three years after they discovered their favorite bathing spot that they would begin to grow more and more aware of themselves and each other, the onset of maturity shaping their bodies and minds into those of young adults instead of children. 

In the center of a circle of dead white corals sat several blue bottles of various sizes, which Alfred tried to fill with small pebbles taken from the sand dunes to little avail. 

Clink. Clink. 

A rose pink pebble bounced off the curve of the bottle, then a gray one. 

The faded, chipped white planks beneath him creaked and sagged slightly under his weight, the crevices in between every well-worn wooden board snaking perpendicular to Alfred’s splayed body towards the glass door to the house, ending abruptly at the doorframe. Light poured into the living room, the door cracked slightly ajar to let the salty ocean breeze drifting around Alfred’s body into the house.

Tink. Tink. 

Every time a tossed pebble tinked against the blue glimmer of a bottle, Alfred cursed inaudibly and took another misshapen pebble from a small pile of collected pebbles by his elbow. Only a few measly, lumpy pebbles sat inside the blue bottles, however. Despite Alfred’s great height advantage over the little seaglass bottles, it seemed that every pebble Alfred tossed at the narrow-necked bottles preferred to land within the circle of white coral and not within a blue bottle’s neck.

“Hey, Alfred!” Arthur called from further inside the house at a driftwood dining table between the kitchen and living room. “Come eat lunch or your pork will become cold!”

“Yeah, hold on a sec Artie! I’m lording over how many more pebbles I’ve launched into the bottles since you ditched me!” 

“Which would be exactly none,” Arthur retorted knowingly, voice carrying over the breeze that suddenly blew in straight through the door towards the kitchen, rustling his hair as he set down the plate of pork with an audible clank. “I’ve counted how many times I’ve heard a pebble land in a bottle, and in the past few minutes there have been no instances of such.” 

“Aw. You know me too well,” Alfred said back, making sure to meet his friend’s eyes and wink at him before he got up to sweep the pebbles off of the porch. Arms crossed defiantly, he stepped back into the house, closing the front door behind him, pouting. “That pork better not be as terrible as it was last time!”

“It was not!” Arthur snapped defensively, meeting Alfred’s eyes from across the expanse of the living room to the open door and framed friend opposing him.

The living room between them was spacious, vaulted skylights high above in the ceiling bathing the warm room in golden colors. Soft upholstery and tan walls complimented the dark cherry hardwood floor. Large windows on the sides let more light in and displayed spanning views of the beach, the dunes, and the small flowering plants and bushes that Arthur cultivated just outside. Despite the height of the large, clean windows and the high-set skylights, however, the room only looked large vertically. Alfred could cross the living room without much effort and oftentimes moved the piled cushions lying haphazardly around the cozy space to allow more wiggle room for his legs. 

Between the living room and the porch was a small tiled area with a shelf for shoes and a scraggly large brush for removing sand from feet and shoes. Alfred completely disregarded this area as usual, tracking sand onto the living room floor with his bare feet and grinning back at Arthur when Arthur softly clucked his tongue in distaste. 

With a creak of a carved chair drawn over wood flooring, Alfred sat down at the small wooden table that Arthur had already laid their lunch out on and leaned over to ruffle Arthur’s hair roughly. “Hey, maybe I didn’t actually land any more pebbles than you, but you have to admit that I can still throw a mean crab,” Alfred said. 

Arthur huffed indignantly yet leaned into Alfred’s touch with an intimate relaxation. “Yes, Alfred, you may be absolute horseshit when it comes to flinging pebbles into a bottle, but when the going gets ugly you can chuck a giant, foaming at the mouth crab so far that I think a quarterback would be jealous.” 

“Heeeeeey, I’m not that bad at pebble toss!” 

“Sure, love, sure.”

As soon as Alfred took a bite out of the succulent seedless fruit pulp that Arthur had laid out on an olive wood plate for him, though, any more of Alfred’s protests were silenced. Whenever fruit needed to be sliced or pastries begged to be risen, Arthur’s deft, careful hands could make sweets so delicious that Alfred would stop yammering his head off just to savor it. 

Arthur would have also liked to think that Alfred’s scrunched face when he ate some of his share of charred pork was also out of respect for Arthur’s skill at cooking, though the own punch in the gut he felt when he ate his own share of pork made him inwardly acknowledge that maybe that wasn’t the case. 

When the sliced pulpy fruit was all gone and Alfred was still attempting to chew down the tough pork bits with greatly animated jaw motions, however, Arthur’s wandering attention was effectively snagged when Alfred leaned over the small table towards him, pointing at a spot on his own chin. “Mm, Artie, d’ya think-”

“You have pulp on your face,” Arthur pointed out, using his thumb to roughly wipe at a spot of pink-orange pulp on the side of Alfred’s mouth. 

Alfred blinked. He swallowed down the last of his pork. “No, not what I meant, but thanks. Do you see any stubble on my chin yet? You have some, and you’re, like, 2 years older than me, so shouldn’t I have some too?” 

Arthur moved his thumb to caress Alfred’s sculpted jawline and chin. “Mm, yes, presumably you should.” He stroked along Alfred’s face, feeling muscle and the beginnings of facial hair bulging underneath Alfred’s golden tanned skin. “There’s a smattering of stubble along your jaw. As for how well I can see it… not very well, but you should shave every morning nonetheless.” A crooked smile split his features. “You wouldn’t want to resemble a sea urchin, would you?” 

“A-A s-sea urchin?” Alfred’s eyes widened like pancakes. “You’re telling me that facial hair becomes spiky? A-and scary? And pokes unsuspecting people at night without warning??” 

“Yes.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “And you shouldn’t take everything you hear too literally, love. You’ll be fine. Your facial hair won’t grow out so much if you take care of it. I promise you. According to the books I’ve read your facial hair won’t grow that much as long as you use the razor I gave you. Alright?”

Alfred nodded. Arthur took back his thumb, satisfied. “Good. You know you can always rely on me if you need to, Alfred. We are the world to each other.” 

But as Arthur rinsed the olive wood plates off in the deep stainless steel sink in the open kitchen, he looked over at Alfred lounging around on a heap of cushions and linen sheets in the living room just beyond the countertop, feeling as if the horizon was just touching Alfred and yet so far away.

\--

Really, Alfred was not as dense as he seemed to be sometimes. He was simply more acquainted to bantering with and listening to Arthur than to looking anything and everything up in their comprehensive library as Arthur often did. 

That night, Arthur spent his last few hours before his regular curfew studying a book on the behaviours of young children by the light of an ornate stained glass lamp. The library was located on the house’s second floor, one side slanted and covered with long windows and the others lined tightly together with bookshelves on nearly every subject Arthur had an interest in - except for romance, for some unknown reason.

He reclined back into the comfortable loveseat lined with his own handmade green quilts. Though his hands were still somewhat clumsy with inexperience and nervousness when he held a thin needle in his fingers, he still loved to sew a little every evening nonetheless. As he transitioned out of his heavy academic reading and laid down on the floor to read about the shape and form of sculptural art in a familiar, glossy coffee-table book, he looked at a pair of contrasting sculptures - one of “masculine” planes and edges and one of “feminine” curves and surfaces - and then down at himself. Studying his own edges and steep curves he inwardly thought that his body was more elegantly sharp and long in comparison to Alfred’s more bulky and smooth features - perhaps more traditionally beautiful, at least by the standards of the books he read.  
However, he didn’t really mind too much. Whenever they curled up together in their shared bed or held hands together on their frequent adventures, their bodies molded and melted together as if they were one.

Their bodies felt just right.

Quite a romantic notion, he thought with a blush, but it sang throughout his mind whenever he laced his fingers through Alfred’s and felt their hands mold together, filling his body with euphoric warmth at the simple touch from his friend.

Snapping back to reality suddenly, eyes strained from reading for so long, Arthur closed the book gently and placed it on the opaque glass table that was covered with various thick coffee table photography books about art, landscape, and other pretty sights that Arthur flipped through whenever he needed easy brain stimulation.

The constant rustle of the plants outside filled the room, casting warm shadows behind Arthur even where the stained glass lamp warded away the darkness. He looked in front of him at the side of the room that consisted of large, slanted windows, admiring the warm ripples on the ocean’s calm surface as the setting sun’s last few rays illuminated the ocean and the clouds above it. 

A little nudge at his leg roused Arthur’s attention. He looked down to see his little Scottish Fold cat, Ginny, batting insistently at his bare ankle with her claws tucked away safely, mewling. Smiling slightly at his cat’s antics, he scooped her up and laid her down on his lap, tucking her short fur back with his fingers as she purred. 

As soon as Ginny slid off of his lap, suddenly more interested in her little green cat bed across the room than in him now that the sun had completely set, Alfred opened the door and beckoned to Arthur. “Artie, are you ready for bed? I-” yawn “really need my special someone to lie down with me in bed.”

“Sur-” Arthur paused. “Special someone?” 

“Ah, ah!” Alfred’s eyebrows shot up and his nervous grin leaned crookedly to the side, openly betraying his unconscious use of the phrase. Somehow, Arthur felt disappointed. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t think about that. Haha, hahahah. Let’s, ah, sleep together. Snuggling, of course. You’ll keep me company and keep any ghosts away! Of course!!” 

“No need to get so tizzled over a.. slip of the tongue, love.” Arthur smiled. “In fact, if you make too much noise at this hour, the ghosts will rise from the earth below and come to shut you up before you can yammer away for the rest of the night. Let’s sleep.” 

Arthur noticed that when Alfred closed his hand around Arthur’s outstretched palm his thick knuckles were white, but he knowingly made no comment on it.

“Yyyyyes!” Alfred said, smile a bit too pulled back to be entirely confident. “Let’s sleep!!”

Smirking at successfully teasing his friend into fear for another night in a row, Arthur let himself be almost dragged along by Alfred out of the library, only pulling back to stop him for a moment as he turned around, gave his beloved dog-eared coffee table books, his cat snugly tucked into the folds of her bed, the shadows cast by the stained glass lamp and the serene sight of the slowly dancing leaves outside one last look for the night before closing the door behind him with a click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is 18 and Alfred is 16. However, they are deliberately written to act young because 1) they're mostly isolated from greater society and 2) reasons that will be explained later on.  
> Please leave some feedback to sustain this little writer. :)


	3. Entre chien et loup

There was a grandfather clock in the bedroom he and Alfred shared that was delicately engraved with images of fauns, sirens, and nature spirits clad in flowing robes dancing amongst the fronds of tropical plants and the waves of a rushing ocean. Their faces were frozen in eternal bliss, arms, horns, fabrics and tails undulating and reaching around the edges of the tall wooden case, almost bursting out of the wood with life. Surrounded by carved hands holding chalices of wine and the leaves of a grape vine a pendulum in the front of the grandfather clock encased behind frosted glass swung back and forth readily, ticking away the time rhythmically as the shadows of the giant window opposite flung dappled leaf shadows across it. 

Whenever Arthur saw it, his mind supplied that the clock had been made many years before and could tell longitude at sea within a few seconds - which was almost flawless - although he could not remember when or how he had learned something so oddly specific about that clock when almost nothing else in their home with a gingerbread porch stood out to him. 

It was on a lazy, nondescript morning that Arthur found himself sprawled across the massive king bed he and Alfred shared, his lanky body flat on the width of the bed with his arms spilling off the edge of the comforter and his feet just barely situated over the opposite edge of the bed. He watched the pendulum of the clock rock back and forth and then, perhaps subconsciously, tilted his head back and forth with the movements of the clock, time ticking. 

Then, the sound of the toilet flushing disturbed Arthur’s momentary peace, and Alfred unceremoniously burst out from the bathroom adjunct to their bedroom and jumped onto the bed stomach-first, his sudden weight jouncing the mattress underneath Arthur as he tumbled off with a startled yelp.

Alfred cheered loudly and bounced on his stomach once more, settling down to lounge on the bed victoriously above Arthur’s mess of limbs that was half-dangling off the bed. “Ha! Got you there, Art! Bet you didn’t see that one coming!”

“Al-fred…” Arthur hissed, lifting himself up on his elbows. 

“No, no, no tag-backs,” Alfred said, grinning lopsidedly as he admonished Arthur with his finger. “Only winners get to tag I, the great Alfred F. Jones!” 

Settling onto his knees irritatedly, Arthur looked into Alfred’s wide, bright eyes with a smoldering look to stab against them. Alfred’s clear blue eyes were clearly rushing with excitement as his body jittered up and down on the mattress like a flopping fish, waiting for Arthur to join in Alfred’s tussles like he always did.

“I’m not up for it, Alfred,” Arthur said, getting to his feet and turning away.

Immediately Alfred’s face fell. He settled into the baby blue comforter on the bed. “...Why?” 

“I said I’m not up for it, Alfred,” Arthur repeated, sighing. His shoulders rose, then fell. “I don’t feel like it today.” 

“But-” 

Arthur closed the door behind him. 

\--

There was a muddy path lined with orange and black porous rocks that Arthur kicked as he walked away from their house with a gingerbread porch, the sounds of the ocean fading away as the leaves swallowed him up.

He had half-expected Alfred to follow him, but to his surprise Alfred didn’t, only making some shuffling noises along the carpet of their second-story bedroom above as Arthur paused at the back door, waiting for Alfred to suddenly rush down the stairs to him and apologize, cuddling him and nuzzling his nose into the crook of Arthur’s neck. But he did not, and Arthur left. 

As he breathed in the misty air of the muddy rainforest stretching behind their home, Arthur relaxed, feeling like he could finally breathe when he was alone with nothing but his thoughts and the buzz of the forest. Somehow, he knew there was a place he belonged to more than the tropical forest, but when he tried to chase that thought further it fizzled out like a dying spark, fading into a grey that Arthur could not parse anything from. 

Suddenly, the narrow path widened out into a rocky trail as the forest sloped up steeper, and Arthur surged forward, running up the rocky slope with abandon as the winding trail rose above and broke the tree line, thick foliage melting away into scraggy grasslands spotted with low-lying bushes and large boulders.

Home. Home. Home. 

His sandals sometimes tripped and stumbled over stray crags and pebbles in the rocky road, but he always righted himself, stumbling only a bit before he ran forward with even more determination, knowing that he would only get closer to his Eden.

He passed a ring of thick bushes and then- 

The clouds broke over him, a ripple of prismatic colors expanding through the fabric of the sky from the zenith of the sky, and he stood over the peak of the island, which was a yellow-green plateau lined with all sorts of large rocks which formed rings like the rings of a tree stump around a small, scraggly tree whose leaves were unusually green and lush for such a high altitude, and Arthur stopped. 

He leaned against a tall, thin rock spurting up from the edge of the plateau and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, the purple shadows clinging to the slopes of the islands but steadily losing ground as the sun bowed its adieu and gave way to an indigo dark night sky. Arthur caught his breath, the rise and fall of his stomach only evening out when the first few stars glinted in the dark blue twilight sky above him. 

His throat was parched, but that was alright since there was a clear-running stream not too far from the summit. His muscles screamed out in the absence of adrenaline, but Arthur had grown used to that already. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed until all of that lost time caught up to him, slamming his knees to the ground as he collapsed, the stars spinning above him. 

He only found his equilibrium when Alfred and a stranger appeared above him, equally concerned faces bringing the night sky brimming with twinkling stars into focus. Arthur leaned into Alfred’s chest as the latter picked him up, clinging half-consciously to his friend’s shirt as he looked up into Alfred’s face, stern and set with worry and… love? 

“You can’t be up here,” Alfred said, the edge of his glasses glinting with light. “You shouldn’t be up here. Let me take you home to where your true heaven is.” 

Arthur’s grip loosened a bit as he processed Alfred’s words, vision blurry with tiredness. 

“Where… did you get those glasses, Alfred?” 

Arthur could feel Alfred adjust him in his arms, feeling the smile Alfred pulled on through the movement of his chest.

“That you do not need to know, Artie.” 

\-- 

The cobblestone edge crumbled beneath Arthur’s foot, and he fell, down, down, down into the well whose dark depths stretched out into infinity.

Then, bright images rushed by, at first tame pale green and blue and then in a burst of dark red became a deluge of sudden colors and intense sensations, all competing for attention in Arthur’s retinas as he looked left and saw his countryman doused in blood and looked right and saw hundreds of trees folding and collapsing into the earth and looked center and saw - 

And saw the stranger again, his smooth, doll-like face stretching out from an image that expanded and stretched around Arthur, surrounding him in three dimensions. 

His toes delicately touched down on a smooth, blank white surface as silence stretched around him, the windows on all sides glowing different colors with various symbols Arthur didn’t recognize set in gorgeous stained glass. His legs folded into a curved surface he didn’t realize was there and settled, firmly planted in a seat across from the stranger.

The stranger was dressed in various thick layers of military dress, golden threads and tassels stretching along and over his silk uniform forming intricate patterns of flowers and leaves, a strangely feminine pattern for a man so clearly dressed for war, sleek black sword and pistol at his side.

“England,” the man said, a tinny undertone and distinct accent lifting up his voice. “The war goes on, as it always has, and our kind fight to the death for ourselves.” A pause - not of consideration, but of an understated emotion. “Why, then, are you so closely allied to him? Why would you, the man who ruled the world once, become the toy of a man so cruel and selfish, who is also your usurper?” 

Arthur rose, but he clearly felt that this body wasn’t his. This body rippled with lean, toned muscle and the wiry strength of a man with steel in his bones - who Arthur felt he could be but also could never be. But as he spoke independently of his mind, he felt the face that wasn’t his almost perfectly melt into his own. 

“I am not a toy to him,” he said, voice a deep, cool tenor. “He is not a toy to me. We are one and the same, an equal partnership that we have consummated and kept strong for decades. No matter what you or the humans may think of us, we are partners.”

The low hiss that escaped the stranger’s mouth did not match the way he dipped his black military cap down to Arthur. “With all due respect, England, your choices put us all in danger. We are primal forces rippling through the fibres of humanity, not dolls to be dressed up and love each other in a pale imitation of human custom. You and your dearly beloved America put us all too close to the brink of danger, deep danger beyond anything ever known before by our kind.”

Arthur kicked over the seat he had sat on in disgust, and the stranger’s clothing exploded, all pretense of civility and femininity discarded as an armored monster emerged in a burst of heat, plates of tempered steel and large black horns curling over a thin, skeletal body emerging from the burst of steam. Arthur removed a handle of some sort from his belt, hands ostensibly shaking in the presence of this beast. 

“Can you not shed your clothing anymore, England?” the monster shrieked, long claws clacking against the smooth surface of the white floor. “You are a shameful shadow of your true self indeed.” 

The monster inched closer to Arthur, thin muscles and plated armor contracting and stretching with the relaxed strength of a tiger ready to pounce, and then- 

His body was pulled back by an unfathomable force, folding into itself away from all sensation and feeling.  
\-- 

Arthur awoke gasping from his dream, the sounds and sensations of the beach in front of his home with a gingerbread porch rapidly surging into his brain as if he had suddenly opened a large drain hole in a basin filled with water. Alfred was right in front of him, his mouth open with his name on his tongue, having distinctly shouted Arthur’s name for the past minute or so.

“Arthur!” 

Arthur placed his hands soothingly on Alfred’s biceps, placating his worried friend. “I’m here, Alfred.” 

“I was worried!” Alfred cried, pulling Arthur into his arms with a crushing grip. “You woke up shouting and I couldn’t get you to respond, and then you started flailing in my arms and crying some jargon about you and me and this Kiku person I couldn’t understand, and when I tried to lay you back down you gripped onto me and said something before falling unconscious!” 

A chill spread through Arthur’s body. “What, pray tell, did I say?” 

“Y-you said this. There is only so much time left. Code Dunkirk: they are coming. Alfred, do you copy? And then you went limp.” 

The grandfather clock pendulum suddenly rushed back into Arthur’s senses, the frosted glass reflecting back a blindingly bright sky that almost completely obscured the pendulum’s movements to the point of illegibility, but Arthur could feel it. He could feel the pendulum knocking back and forth against his skull, deafeningly loud, back and forth, back and forth…

“Did you always have glasses, Alfred?” 

“Arthur? Arthur!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a reference to the French idiom "between a wolf and a dog", which describes the time of day when there is still light but it is so dark that a wolf and a dog are near indistinguishable.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll enjoy this fic full of unspoken emotions and moments. Please leave some feedback.


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